


My Demons

by iamafangirl



Category: Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:25:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1239670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamafangirl/pseuds/iamafangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Herondale never heard the song Demons, but if he did, he would have marvelled at how it described his situation. Songfic. Inspired by 'Demons' by Imagine Dragons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys. I'm new on this site, but I have written a bunch of fanfics on fanfiction.net. I posted this here because we're not allowed to use song lyrics there (are we allowed to here?). My name there is Not Just A Reader - A Fangirl, so if you're interested after reading this you can pop over there and look at some of my other fics :)  
> Enjoy!

 

**My Demons**

 

_When the days are cold,_

 

There were certainly plenty of cold days, here in the miserable climate of England. Will doubted even Wales was as bad. If it wasn’t raining drearily, then it was windy. And always cold. There were rarely any warm days, even in summer. It was as cold as his soul.

 

_And the cards all fold,_

 

The poor bastards trying their luck at the taverns. The chances of them losing their money had to always be infinitely larger than their chances of winning. The fair lady Fortune almost never smiled on them. And yet they are still obsessed with it, addicted to this endless game of chance, one in which they can never win. It gets the best of them, making them want more. Want more if they win, want another chance if they lose. 

Will should know. He spends all his time there. That’s what people think anyway.

 

_And the saints we see_

_are all made of gold._

 

Will had never seen a saint before, and there was not much chance he would ever see an angel, but he didn’t doubt that they would appear gold. They are saints, after all. Their souls were impeccable, free of guilt, sin, all the things humans have. They were blessed. They weren’t cursed. Unlike him.

 

_When your dreams all fail,_

 

His dreams were certainly not becoming real. His dreams; what were his dreams? To find a cure for Jem; to let Jem love him without his heart-wrenching guilt; to stop having to make others hate him; to love Tessa without hurting Jem; to stop having to hurt Tessa - To be free of this wretched curse.

But none of that was going to happen.

 

_And the ones we hail_

_Are the worst of all._

_The blood’s run stale._

 

It wasn’t that Will hated Raziel and his angels. He simply wished there was something they could do. They must know of his curse; if Raziel was almighty and powerful, why couldn’t he lift this curse off of him? But of course, Will couldn’t just ask for that; it would be a miracle if it was to happen. He supposed if he managed to gather the Mortal Instruments and summon Raziel, perhaps that would be possible. But the chances of his summoning the Angel was less than slim.

 

_I want to hide the truth,_

_I want to shelter you,_

_But with the beast inside,_

_there’s nowhere we can hide._

 

That’s what he’s been doing for the last five years, and succeeding considerably (he doubted anyone loved his drinking, whoring personality). But now that Tessa has come into his life....it has been so much harder to conceal his secret. So many times he wanted to tell her, the monster of the secret inside rearing its head, wanting to make it self known; he only caught himself just in the nick of time. And he had lost his composure; that kiss in the attic had to have affected her. He had tried to avoid her as best he can afterwards, but he found it only made him want to be with her even more. But if he made the situation any worse.....

He could not entertain the idea.

 

_No matter what we breed,_

_we still are made of greed._

 

It was true. No matter if one was a Shadowhunter, or a Mundane, or one of the Night Children, or the Moon Children, or Lilith’s, or the Fey, or of any other blood, one has greed. Perhaps not always greed; but craves and wants. The fools in the taverns covets the triumph of a game, or money; the Shadowhunters covet the destruction of all demons; Benedict Lightwood covets control of the London Institute; and all others covets something.

He, Will, covets many things. His wishes, dreams, hopes, they were the things he craved for.

 

_This is my kingdom come,_

_this is my kingdom come._

 

His curse was going to come one day, if he lets his guard down. He just hoped that never happened.

 

_When you feel my heat,_

_look into my eyes._

_It’s where my demons hide,_

_it’s where my demons hide._

 

He knew his eyes were his most vulnerable asset. His emotions can show so easily, shine so bright through those windows to the soul. It’s the place that he can most easily betray his secret. Which is why he guards them so carefully, always making sure they were hard and empty, his face blank. No one could find out.

But Tessa. She brought out the worst and best in him. That night in the attic, when his body heat must have been higher than a boiling pot of water, she had looked into his eyes and right through him. It scared him.

 

_Don’t get to close,_

_it’s dark inside._

_It’s where my demons hide,_

_it’s where my demons hide._

 

Please don’t get closer, Tessa. He didn’t think he could control himself if she did again. If she gets too close, he would fall even more in love with her; and if he lost control of himself around her again, she would be in love with him, if she wasn’t already. And that couldn’t happen. The consequences were dark and murky, and terrible.

 

_So they dug your grave,_

 

If he was too careless, he could lose someone. And possibly, someone he loved. Jem, Tessa, even Charlotte and Henry. He swore to himself he would never see a grave dug because of him.

 

_And the masquerade,_

_will come calling out,_

_at the mess you’ve made._

 

The masquerade inside him, always calling out the moment he gave the tiniest slip. Ifsomeone died because of him, again, it would descent into a pandemonium, a cacophony, screaming at him, scolding him for his carelessness, moaning at the mess he’s made. The mess he wouldn’t be able to clean up.

 

_Don’t want to let you down,_

_but I am Hell-bound._

 

He wanted so much to be able to let people love him, to let people be proud of him, to love him, wanted so badly to not have to let them down, making them think that he was always drinking at the taverns. It was so tiring. But he was cursed. And he didn’t have a way out.

 

_Though this is all for you,_

_I don’t want to hide the truth._

 

It’s for their safety. He knew the consequences, knew the result of this damned curse. But he was so tired of it all. So tired of making them hate him, of going out every night to wallow in a miserable mixture of self-pity and self-deprecation. He just wanted to let it out, tell someone. But he couldn’t do that. Pitying him wasn’t the same as loving him, but he couldn’t risk it.

 

_They say it’s what you make,_

_I say it’s up to fate._

_It’s woven in my soul;_

_I need to let you go._

 

It was his fate, the nature of his curse. He needed to let everyone he loved go. He had to leave his family, be a pain to everyone at the Institute, do so much more that he didn’t want to do. He had to let the people he loved hate him. It was so much harder now, now that Tessa had came into his life. He needed to let her go, too, but his love for her (for he knew that he loved her now) was an obstacle he could not pass. But he had to. Somehow.

 

_Your eyes, they shine so bright._

_I want to save that light._

 

Her beautiful, gorgeous grey eyes, those that shine brighter witchlight rune stones, brighter than the stars that the famous astronomers of old, Copernicus and Galileo and Cassini, gazed upon. Those eyes would lose that light if he wasn’t careful. He wanted to save them, preserve them; even if it means their owner will hate him forever, because then at least he could still see them, look into them, still enjoy that shine.

 

_I can’t escape this now,_

_unless you show me how._

 

He can’t escape this curse. No one knows how to undo this. Except, maybe....the demon. The wretched demon itself. But how would he get in contact with it? You can only talk to a demon....if you summoned it. And the only people who can summon demons are warlocks. But Will didn’t know any warlocks....

He did. 

Magnus Bane.

 


End file.
